


The Con Job

by Silver_Centurion



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Betrayal, Fingering, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Sticky Sex, Torture, Violence, dom/sub themes, dub-con, holding down, past relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5482694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Centurion/pseuds/Silver_Centurion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the betrayal of Longarm, Cliffjumper is caught in a whirlwind of emotions that are made worse when the 'Con pays him a visit as Shockwave.</p><p>Then when Shockwave is captured, Cliff doesn't know who to side with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Dearest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clipchip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clipchip/gifts).



> This was a commission for the lovely ClipChip. I was very happy to write this paring and I enjoyed this very much. There are some dub-con parts so be warned, and a tad bit of violence.

“Communications are okie for dokie,” Jetfire said as the large monitor came online.

“Cliffjumper, this is Optimus Prime,” Optimus addressed as the red mech appeared on screen, “We have vital information—“

“I’m afraid we do too Optimus,” Cliffjumper interrupted, “Approximately 50 megacycles ago, Ultra Magnus was attacked by the traitor, Shockwave.”

Optimus’ optics widened slightly, “Is Ultra Magnus…?”

“In recovery,” Cliffjumper replied but his voice faltered with unease. “But Shockwave got away with his Magnus hammer and did a number on our communications network. As you can imagine, we’re in serious slag here. Now, what did you have to report?”

“We, uh, captured several of Megatron’s top Lieutenants,” Optimus replied after a brief look at Sentinel.

Cliffjumper perked up, “First good news we’ve had in solar cycles. Who’s the hero-bot?”

“His name is Prowl,” Optimus replied with an air of pride.

“So noted,” Cliffjumper said and his attention tuned to Sentinel, “Sentinel, anything to add?”

“Uhh,” Sentinel glanced at Optimus and went rigid at the harsh stare he received from his fellow Prime and added, “Nope.”

“Then I suggest you get back to Cybertron, Sentinel. Stat. Cliffjumper out,” and with that he cut the communication feed.

Cliffjumper stared at the monitor for a moment and allowed his expression to fall. Well at least somebot was making headway in this war. That bit of good news was the best thing that he could have heard at this time, but it didn’t ease the heavy feeling in his spark.

“Any news?” Ironhide asked as he set another stack of datapads on Cliffjumper’s desk.

“Good news, finally,” he replied and rubbed his tired optics. “The crew on Earth has made headway and captured multiple Decepticon lieutenants.”

“Slag, son that’s not headway. That’s a leap into first place,” Ironhide looked more than pleased with the information and left, saying that he wished to ‘spread the good news’.

Suddenly alone in the busy ship, Cliffjumper sagged into his chair. Magnus was in the critical care unit, the war was in full swing with Megatron causing Primus knows what trouble on a distant planet, and now the betrayal of a, seemingly, trusted Autobot? It would weigh heavily on any mechs spark. Many knew Longarm very personally. He was outwardly loyal, committed, and generally well liked. Often he was considered a work-a-holic, but who wasn’t in this day and age?

Cliffjumper felt another stab of pain as he remembered watching the security footage. After they had found Magnus, they scoured the security feeds before anyone had the chance to tramper with them. In the end their rush wasn’t necessary as it became very obvious that Shockwave had no intention of slipping back undercover and, to the Autobots horror, the entire encounter was on tape. For Cliffjumper, it was horrible to watch. A commander he both loved and respected was mercilessly beaten with his own hammer and simply left there as if he wasn’t worth anymore of the decepticons time.

As he was sitting there, lost in his thoughts, something cold pressed to the base of his helm. Alarms rang in his system as it felt distinctly felt like the barrel of a cannon.

“If you move so much as a wire I’m blowing you to pieces,” said a voice behind him.

Cliffjumper felt his spark thrum in panic but kept still. Despite the other bots calm tone, he didn’t doubt the threat. After all, this fragger had already brutally attacked one Autobot today.

“You son of a glitch,” He seethed and held onto the edge of his desk until his servo joints creaked from the pressure.

“Now now,” Shockwave drawled and leaned in closer, “No need for that kind of language.”

“I thought you’d be halfway to Earth by now. Why the slag are you still here? Come to rub it in?”

Shockwave tisked and spoke calmly into Cliffjumper’s audial, “I couldn’t just leave without saying goodbye, especially given our _history._ ”

Rage boiled under Cliffjumper’s plating and he barked, “History? After all we’ve been through you just call it **history**? Primus’ sake we…” he gulped and his vocalizer filled with static, “How could you do this?”

“I have _always_ been a Decepticon Cliffjumper. From the moment you met me, to now as I hold my gun barrel to your neck, I have been a Decepticon. You ask me ‘how could I do this’ as if I was once on your side. Darling I have never been on your side,” Shockwave replied and Cliff shivered as he felt the distinct trail of claws go up his shoulder plate.

“D-Don’t call me that,” Cliff growled angrily but didn’t dare turn away from the monitor.

“What?” Shockwave asked before his voice dropped an octave, “Darling?”

Cliffjumper shivered as that voice went straight to his spark. The accent was off, but the tone was all Longarm.

“Don’t you call me that,” he said again as his voice laced with static. “Don’t call me that like we’re still…that you still…”

Shockwave loomed over him and Cliffjumper could feel the pressure of the gun barrel increase.

“That I what? That I still love you?”

Cliffjumper felt the knot in his intakes tighten and his vocals hitched. From the beginning Cliff had been fond of the introverted Communications Officer. His large frame and smooth voice had won Cliffjumper over immediately. After that it was a hard journey to convince the other bot to feel the same way, but Cliff had been persistent. Their first night was a flurry of heat and curses, and the encounters thereafter eventually softened into what Cliffjumper could only described as lovemaking. Longarm had even been the first to say that he loved him.

The cool pressure of the gun barrel left his neck and Cliffjumper heard the distinct sounds of a transformation sequence.

“Cliffjumper,” the accent left and Cliffjumper had to keep himself in check as a flood of emotions entered his processor.

“Cliffjumper look at me,” Shockwave demanded in Longarm’s voice.

Slowly Cliffjumper turned and faced the mech. It was Longarm staring back at him, but Cliffjumper knew better. He spark ached, but he looked Shockwave in the optic—his true optic—and didn’t hold back his emotions. He wouldn’t lie. It felt good to see Longarm again. He wanted nothing more than to ask the big mech to hold him, to let him know that it was alright. But knowing what was really looking at him made his tanks lurch. This was no Autobot and, somehow, seeing this rouse was made all the more disturbing with that in mind.

“Now now, don’t look at me like that,” Shockwave said as he lightly took Cliffjumpers chin between his servos.

He leaned in and Cliff had to resist the urge to jerk as their lip plates came together in a soft kiss. It was fleeting, but it caused a whirlpool of emotions in Cliffjumpers spark none the less.

Cliff vented deeply, trying to compose himself, and said, “What is this?”

Soundwave flashed a charming smile, “Why Darling that was a kiss.”

“No! Slaggit what is _this?_ ” he said as he gestured between them. “What…what do you want?”

Shockwave regarded him for a moment before he gave an exasperated exvent. It was both fascinating and horrifying to watch as he turned back into his true decepticon form and he was frighteningly large up close. Suddenly the image of Magnus getting beaten with his hammer seemed all the more real. This mech truly looked like he was more than capable of such strength.

“I’m going to be frank with you Cliffjumper,” Shockwave drawled in an accent that was foreign in Cliff’s audials. “I didn’t come here to rub anything in or to open any wounds.”

Cliffjumper remained seated but held firm onto the arm rests. “Then what do you want?” he asked cautiously.

The ‘con leaned—almost loomed—over him and came optic to optics with him. It was eerie seeing only one optic on a mech. It made Shockwave look both foreign and apathetic. Unnatural even.

“I want _you_ Cliffjumper,” he said ever so softly and trailed a claw across the Autobots chin.

Cliff swallowed the lump that leapt into his throat and choked out, “What do you mean me?”

“I want you. I want you to come with me,” he said with a stern certainty.

The weight on Cliffs spark suddenly doubled. Cliffjumper didn’t need to ask any more questions. It was obvious what Shockwave meant. To defect from the Autobots and willingly follow a decepticon? Follow Megatron? Cliffjumper may be a bit different from the average Autobot—a bit too violent and hot tempered for his own good at the best of times—but he was no traitor.

“You want me to go with you? After everything you’ve done? What could you possibly give me now? What makes you think I even want to **look** at you anymore?” His voice grew along with his temper, and he bolted up from his chair, knocking it back with a loud bang. “You think that I’ll just come follow you like some love-struck youngling? You **attacked** Magnus. You’ve been a traitor all this time and who knows what else you’ve done since you got here.”

Cliffjumper felt emboldened by his rage and stepped into the cons personal space, giving him a hard jab to the chassis, “Give me **one** good reason why I shouldn’t just open fire on you right now.”

Despite the obvious threat, Shockwave didn’t react in the way Cliffjumper expected. He remained placid but didn’t retreat, and he spoke with a calm tone, “In all honestly I don’t have a reason to give you. I’m a decepticon and always have been. You have no reason to trust any of my words, and frankly you’d be stupid to do so. However, I truly mean it when I say I want you in my life Cliffjumper. The words I have said to you over the course of our relationship may have been edited to be more Autobot-friendly, but they were not false.”

Cliffjumpers anger petered out. That was quite a statement, and despite the lying nature of Decepticons, Cliff was inclined to believe that what Shockwave was saying was true.

“Do…Do you really still love me?” He was hesitant to ask, but he had to know the answer.

“No,” Shockwave said slowly, “At least not in an Autobot sense. Decepticons are simply not capable of the gooey affection Autobots seem to thrive on.”

Shockwave’s optic brightened as he closed in on Cliffjumper, who stubbornly stood his ground, and the ‘Con let out a deep engine rumble as the backs of his claws brushed Cliff’s flank.

“However,” Shockwaves tone darkened and it made Cliff’s spark thrum in its’ cavity, “I cannot deny that I still lust for you. Losing you as a berthmate would be a _very_ unfortunate outcome, and I would like to prevent that if at all possible.”

Cliff tried to ignore the way those claws gave him both chills of terror and excitement, and how Shockwaves admission went straight to his interface array.

He slapped the offending claws away and ignored the pings in his head that wanted to turn his fans on.

“Well you kinda messed that up when you beat my commander half to death,” he spat and felt heat prickle across his neck cables as Shockwave let out an unamused huff.

“Only half? My I must be losing my touch.”

Cliffjumper growled and gave the big ‘con a shove, although it didn’t do much. “It’s not funny you glitch! I’m not going anywhere with you, I don’t want anything to do with you, and I certainly don’t want to interface with you ever again!”

The light air around Shockwave dissipated and became heavy. The change was so sudden that it had Cliffjumper on edge. Perhaps he had laid it on a little too thick. His anger had put him in more than one sticky situation, but this time he may have made a big mistake. It was just so easy to do with Shockwaves carefree demeanor, so easy to forget he was a decepticon and more than capable of things worse than murder.

“Is that truly what you wish?”

Cliffjumper swallowed another lump in his throat and reset his vocals as he replied, “Yes.”

Sudden pressure around his neck cables made Cliffjumper yelp, and a plate in his back creaked angrily as he was shoved up against the console by Shockwaves superior strength. He pulled at the claws only for them to tighten and his processor started to fritz from slow energon circulation.

“It’s not nice to lie, Darling. True you may not be very happy with me right now, but I am very attuned to your body. I haven’t missed the subtle signs of your interest. It seems, even in this form, you can’t seem to keep your servos off me,” Shockwave rumbled again and held Cliff down at an awkward angle to prevent Cliff’s kicks from landing.

“Yes, even now I can _smell_ it coming off you,” Shockwaves voice rolled through Cliff like a sub-woofer, deep and smooth but with the underlying promise of violence. “In fact I seem to recall a tryst of ours were you were particularly receptive. You responded so well as I held you down. Could it be that you enjoy such violence? My, my, how un-autobot of you.”

As he mused, Shockwaves free servos had found their way to Cliff’s hip joints. He gasped as the thin points of the claws started to pluck at seams and scrape along sensitive wires. The grip on his neck did not falter, and the fuzzy static in his processor heightened the burning feeling of Shockwaves intrusive servos. They roamed over his thighs and Cliff suddenly realized how _big_ Shockwaves hands were. The spread of his servos alone were wider than his leg and could easily wrap around it too.

Shockwave knew of a sensitive plate on the inside of Cliffjumper’s thigh and didn’t hesitate to take advantage of it. Much to his astonishment, Cliff moaned in the back of his throat. How was that possible? It felt just as good as when Longarm had played with it. Shockwave knew just how and where to press, but Cliff hadn’t thought he’d enjoy it in the least. The tender touch reawakened his interface protocols and he cursed his body for reacting this way.

“Y-You slagger,” he choked out and tried to give Shockwave another kick. This one connected with the ‘cons thigh and gave a satisfying clank as the metal dented.

The triumph was short lived, however, as Shockwave retaliated with a harsh backhand to the face plate. It stung and brought static to Cliff’s optics, but the damage was, thankfully, minimal.

“Do. Not. Kick me,” Shockwave commanded as he flipped Cliff onto his stomach.

Cliff struggled, but the con had him pinned by his weight. He should be afraid, pit he was slagging terrified, but it wasn’t the fear he had expected to feel when a ‘con was pinning him against his own console. What should have been dread pooling in his tanks was excitement instead, and he let out a desperate groan as Shockwaves servos found their way to his aft.

Shockwave leaned onto him, using his size to smother the smaller Autobot, and exvented hotly into Cliff’s audial.

“I’m going to frag you Cliffjumper. I’m going to show you what it feels like to be on the end of a Decepticons lust and, when I’m done, I’ll let you decide if you truly still hate me. If you choose to stay with the Autobots then I will leave peacefully with only a fond memory.”

Shockwave didn’t give Cliffjumper much time to contemplate his offer—although Cliff was beginning to suspect that it was a statement that he wasn’t allowed to refuse—as his thoughts were interrupted by a hot interface panel being pressed to the curve of his aft. It seemed their struggle had excited the con more than it had Cliffjumper. From the feel of his bowing panel, it seemed like Shockwave was barely holding his cover closed.

Cliffjumper bit his lip plate and felt his face heat up as the con slowly started to hump his heated panel against his aft like a rutting turbofox. That was certainly something Shockwave never did when he was undercover as Longarm, and the sheer lewdness of the motion got Cliff’s engines running.

Those prying servos were back, but this time they went straight for his panel. His fans roared into motion as he felt the tips of those dangerous claws scrape lines into his paint. They probed intently at the inside seams where his paneling met his thigh, and pinched at wires tight enough to boarder on the edge of pain.

“Open your paneling,” Shockwave commanded although his firm tone wavered into one that sounded almost desperate.

Part of him hated himself for opening his paneling as quickly as he did. The sound of it snapping open was deafening to his audials, and the cool air hitting his lubricant soaked valve made his plating shudder.

Cliff turned his head and rested his hot cheek against the cool metal of the console as Shockwaves claws tickled the lips of his valve. The sensation was just enough to tease but held enough pressure to remind Cliff that, yes, those were claws and, yes, they were very likely going to enter him. Once the tip of a claw found its way past the first ring of mesh and slipped inside his valve, Cliff felt a tremor of excitement. As it pushed in it stretched him wider. Those servos felt bigger than they looked, and the thick part of Shockwaves claw felt like two normal servos at once. The stretch both burned and stimulated sensor clusters and had Cliff groaning needily.

Shockwave added another servo and started working him open in earnest. It was obvious that Shockwave was more interested in the end product and was skipping the foreplay entirely. Not that Cliff was complaining. His swollen valve greedily soaked up all the attention and pulled Shockwaves servos in deeper with each thrust. Lubricant thickly rolled down Cliffs thigh as Shockwave added his thumb to the mix, pressing firmly onto his outer node. He let out a harsh gasp and twitched his hips from the harsh stimulation.

There was a shlicking wet noise as Shockwave pulled his servos out and Cliff was panting by the time the ‘con opened his panel and lined up his spike. True to his word, Shockwave started slowly fragging him open and seemed intent to reduce the Autobot to a groaning pile of nerves and lubricant. He did not pause until he was fully seated, and then it became apparent what ‘the lust of a decepticon’ truly meant. He gave Cliffjumper no time to adjust and started a pace far too punishing for the autobots taste.

Shockwaves spike spread him wide, and the mesh stretched to its absolute limit as Cliffs valve tried to accommodate the girth. His calipers cycled down desperately and node clusters fired with spark thrumming pleasure as Shockwaves pace slowed to a hard fragging instead of a frantic one.

It was hard to believe the noises he was hearing were coming out of his vocalizer, out of his valve. He’d never been the vocal one in their relationship, but then again he’d never been so overpowered. So wholly dominated and used, while at the same time feeling excited and aroused enough that his valve was overproducing lubricants. It added to the chaos of his processor as he fought the urge to tell Shockwave off and to beg him to go faster.

Above him, Shockwave grunted with the effort and shifted his grip from Cliffjumpers neck to his horns. He grabbed a sharp hold on them, and used them as leverage to pound into Cliffjumper. The force wracked through his frame and assaulted his ceiling node. Cliff let out a series of desperate sobs as the pleasure built, and clawed at the console as a charge started to arch between his and Shockwaves frames.

“O-Oh frag. OH frag!” Cliffjumper let out a string of curses as his overload started to peak, and he clawed desperately at the console in an attempt to anchor himself.

“Yes Cliffjumper,” Shockwave growled through deep vents as his systems tried to cool themselves. His rigid façade melted into carnal lust as his hips snapped into Cliffjumper. “Shout my name as I cast you into oblivion. Do it! Now!”

Cliff yelped as Shockwave snarled and gave his horns a hard yank backwards, and Cliff only managed a garbled mess and a few syllables of Shockwaves name. His overload took him like a punch to the tanks, and he yelled as his valve cycled rapidly around Shockwaves spike, pulling him in deep and holding him there. Despite the added pressure, Shockwave was determined to pound his processor out as he lost his rhythm and fragged Cliffjumper with wild abandon.

Shockwave overloaded without a sound, but Cliff could feel the ‘cons claws trembling as they dug into his plating. The transfluid felt almost cold on the too sensitive walls of his valve, and without much space to begin with, they transfluid gushed out in this rivulets.

Cliff twitched as his vents tried desperately to cool his frame, and the residual waves of pleasure of his intense overload made him have mini ones with each clench of his valve. Shockwave thankfully didn’t stay in his valve long, and it felt like he was taking Cliffs internal components with him as he pulled out. The con released his death grip on Cliff, and Cliff remained placid and structure-less as Shockwave released him completely.

“So. Do you still hate me?” Shockwave asked in between intakes and watched as their mixed fluids started to make a puddle on the floor between Cliffs spread legs.

It took Cliffjumper a couple of tries to reset his vocalizer, and when he finally did he managed to prop himself up so he could turn and look Shockwave in the optic.

“I…I only let you do that for…nostalgia. Old times. But…I’m not going with you.” He admitted to himself that, yes, he enjoyed that a lot, but one frag was not enough to make up for what Shockwave had done. And, judging by the look on the cons face, he knew it too.

Shockwave closed his own panel after his spike retracted and regarded Cliff for a few quiet moments. It seemed that he wanted to say something, but instead he turned and made his way for the door.

Cliff pushed up off the console and winced as pain throbbed through his valve. “Don’t think this exempts you from anything. We’re coming for you, traitor,” he declared and heard the cons steps pause.

“Hmm…Oh I do hope so. Give my offer some thought. Perhaps next time we meet you’ll have changed your mind,” he stated simply and exited the room as if nothing had transpired.

Cliff didn’t know what he had expected, but the calm dejection hurt something in him more than if Shockwave had threatened him. He bit his lips plate and dug his servos into the console. There was still a love for Longarm in his spark. Cliff would not lie to himself about that. Longarm would remain dear to him, but he refused to admit anything other than contempt for Shockwave. He was a con, and no matter who or what he _used_ to be, he would answer for the crimes he’s committed for Autobot kind and against Ultra Magnus.

Cliffjumper slammed his fist on the console and watched the keypad spark. As far as he was concerned, Longarm was dead. Murdered. He’d make Shockwave pay for killing him too.


	2. My Savior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains torture, mentions and suggestions of rape, and general unhappy themes. It's not heavy throughout, but there is definitely enough to put a warning label.

The first thing that registered was the utter lack of wiggle room. Shoulders brushed the walls with each small shift and his own ex-vents fluttered back to his face plate almost immediately.

His optic came online to darkness. Sensory deprivation? He tested his wrists. Bound by stasis. No wonder his movements were so sluggish. His energy reserves registered at 25%, main operating systems were at 35%. Cognitive function….less than optimal.

Shockwave blinked blearily. It was becoming hard to think. The more he tried the more the stasis cuffs cut off his sensory information. Instead of trying to fight it, Shockwave relaxed. The less he focused on the better.

Normally in a situation such as this, a mech would sleep until something happened. Not Shockwave. Too risky. With stasis cuffs on the possibility of going too deep into recharge was a very real threat. He’s personally seen mechs so in so deep that they could have anything done to them without waking—invasive surgery, processor probing, even unsightly medical exams—and he was not about to let that happen in an Autobot base.

Common sense told him he was in a major Autobot prison. Most likely in Iacon itself, but a tickling in the back of his processor said that he was in Tripticon Prison. Why not? After all it was so _Autobot_ to use a Decepticon base as a prison for the ‘most dangerous cybertronian criminals that have ever existed’.

That may be the Autobot view but Shockwave knew better. There was far worse in the universe than himself and Megatron. Sure Megatron was their leader, and Shockwave was currently the most wanted for his assault on Magnus, but they were tame compared to many mechs that served under Megatron.

Sudden light burned his optic, and he wished desperately for the ability to turn his head.

“Awake already?” A voice greeted him. It sounded familiar, but when Shockwave opened his optic it became obvious he didn’t know this mech. Large but young, this bot must be a new recruit—or simply a mech that was easy to overlook.

“Apparently so,” he replied dryly. The stasis cuffs inhibited much but thankfully his vocalizer still worked. They must have done that for the purpose of interrogation No other reason to allow a prisoner to talk.

The young bot—Shockwave decided to start calling him ‘Flames’ considering the copious amounts of them decorating his lithe frame—unlatched his arms and legs from the cell wall.

“Alright walk out. Nice and easy.”

Such authority coming from one so small. A shame Shockwave couldn’t move his servos more than a few millimeters. He wondered if Flames would still have such an attitude with three servos buried knuckle deep in his spark chamber.

“As you wish,” he drawled again and took a hesitant step. His own legs felt like they were simultaneously on fire and full of thick rubber, and his hesitation was not due to unease, but rather the desire to not fall on his faceplate.

Flames kept a blaster trained on him as they began to walk down a short hall. Now that he was out, Shockwave took the chance to analyze his surroundings. Holding cells it looked like. Rows of them stood empty except for a few which housed his comrades—Blitzwing among them. Their optics met as he passed and he gave Shockwave all the information he needed with a look that said ‘Good Luck’.

Great.

The walk was thankfully short, and Shockwave was seated and bound to a chair in an otherwise empty room. Flames and three other mechs strapped him down tight, and he grunted as the hard metal dug into his plating. His arms, legs, even his helm were strapped. Such precautions. Shockwave felt flattered. The loss of the stasis cuffs was a nice touch, but one good tug on the restraints told him that, even if he had been at full strength, there was no leverage to do any real damage.

“Be sure to strap everything gentlemechs. If I get out you will be the ones to die first,” he purred just to see the flicker of fear glint on their optics. It was satisfying to watch them scuttle around like frightened younglings as they hastily finished strapping him down.

They backed away, keeping either their blasters or their optics on him as another mech entered the room. This one he did recognize.

“Jazz. What a pleasure to see you again old friend. How’s Ironhide?”

His banter didn’t faze the ninjabot, and he hadn’t expected it too. Jazz had a good helm on his shoulders. Smart, deadly, sexy. Shockwave respected him more than most, but it also made him weary. Jazz was clever. Clever enough to see through most of his rouses, and that made Jazz dangerous.

“He’s fine,” he white bot hummed and came to a stop in front of Shockwave. His stance was casual, but there was a hard to see rigidness. “How are you holding up?”

So that was the game. So be it.

“Well. The accommodations are exquisite all things considered. Were I not cuffed I may actually be able to move a little. I’m flattered you took my comfort into consideration.”

“Yeah…only the best…” Jazz stressed with no small amount of ire. “But I think you know why you're here.”

“Hmmm yes. My first Autobot interrogation. How exciting. Proceed.”

This seemed to catch the ninja off guard a bit, but he quickly regained his composure.

“Are there anymore mechs on Earth?”

“Oh…well there’s a walking trash heap with an identity crisis. Oh? What? Oh you mean just Decepticons? You should really be more specific.”

Jazz’s lip twitched. It was small, but Shockwave noticed.

“Well I’m sure there are more. After all we are the ‘scourge of the galaxy’. We frag like turbo foxes and exist only to witness the suffering of others. It’s hard to keep count.”

There was a long pause before Jazz continued, obviously trying another tactic, “Where is the Decepticon base?”

“In a little tavern just north of here. I can give you the magic password if you like. It’s ‘Autobots suck flaccid—‘”

The door suddenly flew in and an obnoxious voice came with it. “Take this seriously you piece of slag!”

“Oh Sentinel _Magnus_. What a pleasure it is to once again hear your grating voice. So easy on the audials.”

Jazz threw a glare over at the Acting Magnus, but Sentinel either didn’t care or didn’t notice. Instead he came right up to Shockwave and huffed in his face.

“Tell us what we want to know or you’ll be in a world of hurt _Decepticon_. We have creative ways of making you talk!”

Shockwave regarded him for a moment before speaking, “Oh you mean cutting my rations? Sensory deprivation? Oh wait I know, you’ll submit me to mild mental torture until I offline from boredom. I for one—“

A heavy backhand sent his processor reeling. Sentinel didn’t look amused.

“You listen here you insufferable glitch—“

“Oh such big words. Your superiors must be so proud,” Shockwave interrupted and received a harder slap. His optical feed glitched in a dazzling array of colors and shapes.

“Shut. Your. Vocalizer, you traitor,” Sentinel hissed and leaned in close. “I’m going to put you through enough slag to make you wish you’d offlined yourself. You hear me?” He gave Shockwaves abused helm another smack and Shockwave had to cycle his optic to get a good enough focus on his captor.

“You will sit here for two joors. After that we will squeeze every bit of information out of that twisted processor of yours.”

And with that, Sentinel and his lackeys left Shockwave alone. Perhaps it was a good thing that Sentinel had shown up. His arrogance and impatience with important matters made him easy to handle. Any extended amount with Jazz, however, could have proved troublesome. Shockwave weighed his options.

Keeping absolutely silent when interrogated was the best option. He wasn’t about to give them a single scrap of information. His leader may have been captured along with them, but Shockwave knew his lords wrath. Crossing him was a worse idea that the War. Plus just the idea of helping the Autobots left a churning nausea in his tanks.

The banter was fin. Seeing Sentinel in a huff was always worth a few laughs, but it would grow tiresome eventually. Especially if the Autobots decided to use underhanded tactics to make him squeal. Not that he expected full on torture. No the Autobots were too….good for torture, and this is what made him the most uneasy. There were two things to expect when in a Decepticon prison: Ever increasing physical torture, and being offlined after your usefulness expired.

But with the Autobots he had no idea what to expect.

 

* * *

 

“Sentinel Magnus Sir, Cliffjumper reporting.”

Sentinel turned to face him with a cheery disposition. That couldn’t be good.

“Ahh Cliffjumper. Glad you could join us. Have a seat,” Sentinel gestured to the empty seat beside Jazz, who had regarded him with a simple nod.

Cliff took his seat, but shifted uncomfortably. Being in a very dim room with no one but his superior officers was nerve wracking.

“Um, Sirs? What are we doing?”

It seemed that Sentinel was waiting for this question because he immediately answered, “Have you ever witnessed an interrogation Cliffjumper?”

Cliff swallowed a lump in his intakes, “Um, no sir.”

“It’s a shame. Well let today mark your first, if not _the_ best interrogation of the Autobot faction,” Sentinel boasted with a smug look of satisfaction.

Cliff had a bad feeling in his tanks. It wasn’t unlike Sentinel to boast, this was completely normal, but his choice of topic was a little….disturbing.

“Sir? Who are we interrogating?” He asked and cast Jazz a side glance. Jazz’s expression was unreadable but his posture said something else.

Sentinel flashed a malicious grin and flipped a switch. A previously blank screen in front of them flashed to life in stunning quality. Cliff didn’t know what he was expecting—it couldn’t have been good all things considered—but he still couldn’t stifle gasp.

“Fantastic isn’t it? Perceptor came up with it. That electro prod sends a certain type of electric current through the target. Instead of immobilizing it fires off ever nerve circuit. Perceptor said it would make even the most immovable mech fall to their knees in agony,” Sentinel sighed with a pleased expression and Cliff could only stare on in horror.

Shockwave wreathed and convulsed as the electric current wracked through his body. It was obvious he was in terrible pain, but the stubborn mech refused to utter a single noise.

This was a feeling Cliffjumper never thought he’d experience. A terrible wave of grief and yearning made him want to leap out of his chair. But this was Shockwave—a mech who he parted with on terrible terms. The murderer of their Magnus—of whom the entire planet was still grieving—and a terrible sadist who most likely had far worse on his conscience, Shockwave deserved far worse.

And yet he still felt his spark reach for its’ mate.

“Sir,” his own voice sounded foreign as it laced with static. “Do we have to watch this? I mean, is it really necessary?”

Sentinels face suddenly turned hard as he stared unwaveringly at Shockwaves trembling form. “Yes. For the good of all Autobots we must watch. This mech is not only a traitor. He is a disgusting figurehead for the Decepticon cause. As heads of our respective divisions, we must be a witness to his interrogation. Sweeping filth like this under the rug will not serve the justice that _needs_ to be served.”

Cliff begrudgingly turned back to the spectacle. The nameless mech who was dishing out the punishment had stopped to allow Shockwave a moment of respite. The camera was close enough that they could see his vents heaving in an attempt to cool himself. Soft twitches and jerks made Cliff painfully aware that there was internal damage.

“Hit him again. Up it 50%,” Sentinel commanded into a two way radio between him and the torturer.

The prod flared to life and the mech jabbed it into Shockwaves abdomen. The result was much more explosive.

 

* * *

 

Shockwave couldn’t help the scream that was ripped out of his vocalizer. His body lurched against his confines, and his vision became blinded by the errors flashing across his HUD. This pain was not what he had expected. It was an internal pain, one that only errored minor systems, and yet it was more excruciating than if he had been thrown into a scraplet pit.

He had to hand it to the Autobots, they were more barbaric than he’d realized.

This session seemed to go on longer than the last. The electricity was making his internal chronometer rapidly jump and stall so it was impossible to really tell how long it had been going on. If the raspy after static in his voice was any indication, then it had been going on too long.

The electricity suddenly stopped. Residual bursts of absorbed energy made his body convulse until that too subsided. It was hot. He felt like gel was stuffed into his vents. He couldn’t cycle air fast enough. In a desperate attempt to bring his temperature back to normal coolant had begin rolling down his plating. It stung as it rolled into his optic and tortured now painfully sensitive wires.

Muffled voices registered in his audials but he could not find the source of the sound. He cycled his optic once. Twice. A fuzzy blue shape came into view.

“Still having fun, Shockwave?” It was Sentinel. Of course he’d come in after the dirty work had already been completed. “Not so high and mighty now. You know that prod is only at about 75%. Imagine what it would be like cranked up to 100?”

Imagine it he did. The subtle fear in the back of his processor wondered if he could live through that much voltage, but the rational part said that the Autobots may threaten his life, but he is more valuable alive. They’d be idiots to just up and kill him after a few tries. They wanted his information and he was unwilling to give it up. This was the nature of torture.

“…zzzzt…S-Su—zzzt…Suck rust—zzzzt,” he hissed, his voice laced with static and hatred, as his optic focused in Sentinels smug face.

It wasn’t enough to watch Sentinels face drop like a disgruntled youngling who hadn’t gotten their way. No, he wanted to hurt him. Hold him down and watch as the life faded from his eyes. Rip his circuits out one by one until he was nothing. Claw his optics out and show him what it was really like to be under a Decepticons’ ire. It was the least this arrogant glitch deserved.

“Haha very mature,” Sentinel glared but stood straight in an egotistic attempt to look unfazed. “Fine. We’ll see how you act when you’re left here.” He turned to the torture bot, “I want him monitored. When his energy readings fall below 5%, comm. me. Not a moment sooner. We’ll see how he handles his own frame eating itself for fuel.”

The sound of the door slamming echoed in the small room. The silence was a welcomed escape from his own cries of pain, and he relished it for a small time.

Resolve was a hard thing to come by. Every mech, no matter how big or how bold, had a breaking point. A point where they could take it no longer and they caved. In his life, Shockwave had never been pushed to that point. There wasn’t even a moment where he had been close, but that didn’t mean he did not have one. Shockwave valued himself as being tougher than most. This mundane excuse for torture wouldn’t faze him for a long time. It was a strong likelihood that the Autobots would get bored and offline him before he caved. In this situation that would be the best reasonable outcome.

Other than escaping of course, but another quick survey of the room yielded the same results as before. One door in or out and nothing else to speak of. There wasn’t even a ventilation shaft. Not that having one would give him much of an advantage. He’d have to be the size of a mini-con to squeeze through anything like that.

Mini-con. Cliffjumper. He surprisingly hadn’t thought of that name for quite a few solar cycles. The mini had been on his processor after their little ‘get together’ during his big escape. Just picturing the bots signature grumpy exterior made him want to smirk. Rising Cliffjumpers temper had always been his favorite pastime, and it was so wonderfully easy. Of course he had always played innocent, coy. Shockwave knew exactly what he had been doing, but Cliffjumper always seemed to get off when Shockwave expressed his sincere apologies.

Funny where the processor goes under stress. He should be planning an escape or steeling his mind for the starvation to come, and yet his processor lingered on the red mini’s features. Plump and round, but deceptively strong, Cliffjumper was a stark contrast to the pointed ‘Cons of Shockwaves past trysts. Not to mention fiery in everything he did—not just his temper. Passionate.

It was that passion that had drew Shockwave to the bot in the first place—although Cliffjumper insists it was _he_ who initiated the relationship. It was just interest at first, more or less a healthy curiosity for the tempered young bot. Watching him had become Shockwaves little hobby, and he would often catch his optics lingering on the bots more _intimate_ features. Watching his aft sway as he walked, lingering glances at his lips and optics, it quickly apparent that he was attracted.

In the end he couldn’t deny his primal programming and offered the young mech a simple frag. Something to let off some steam and dispel some of the sexual frustration between them. It had been obvious that Cliff had felt the same but it was some confounded Autobot reason as to why he tried to hide it.

What Shockwave hadn’t expected was the morning after. Instead of being gone before he woke—common courtesy for one night frags among ‘Cons—Cliff remained in Shockwaves berth. Sound asleep and unaware of Shockwaves ever lingering stares. Should he wake him? Tell him to leave? In the end he couldn’t bear to do either. That peaceful expression shone in the morning light as if the bot had a crimson halo. He watched as Cliffjumpers optics opened, cycling slowly as the bot booted up. When he fully came online their optics met, and Cliff gave a grin that Shockwave had previously never seen on the grumpy bot.

To this day Shockwave still didn’t fully understand why his spark had given a hard thrum that morning. All he knew is that this mech, this _Autobot_ had awoken something in him that no other ‘Con had managed before. It was an intense gnawing, an insatiable **want**. He wanted to own Cliffjumper in everything he was—his very spark—and the mere idea of another mech getting close to him made his veins roil.

Cliffjumper would never be the same. No longer a good little Autobot, Cliff would never forget him. Every mech after Shockwave would be a dull comparison. Even if Shockwave couldn’t have him in his physical grip, a mental one would always be present.

Cliffjumper was _his_ and _his alone,_ and Cliff knew it.

 

* * *

 

As Sentinel exited the interrogation chamber with the torturer Cliff felt immense relief. Relief that Sentinel didn’t just decide to put a plasma bullet in Shockwaves head, and relief that this session was finally over. It hadn't lasted more than a joor but to Cliff it felt like megacycles.

“Ah Cliffjumper,” Sentinel called as the red mech tried to make a hasty exit. “Walk with me would you.”

Groaning inwardly, he fell in line with his Magnus as they started down the corridor. Jazz fell away with one look from Sentinel, and Cliff inwardly cringed as he realized he was alone with Sentinel.

Cliff has known their _Magnus_ for a long time. Sure Sentinel had his faults, but he was loyal without a doubt and, somewhere, Cliff knew he wanted the best for Cybertron. But after today, watching Sentinel stare without so much as a flinch as a mech was tortured brought a new light to the bots personality. Maybe he was simply strong mentally and could handle such things. Maybe Cliff was just trying to explain it away for lack of a better alternative.

“It is to my knowledge that you knew Shockwave very well when he was posing as Longarm Prime.” Without waiting for a response, Sentinel continued. “You most likely have intimate knowledge of him. Any weaknesses? Fears he confided in you? Anything at all might be valuable in the attempt to crack him.”

Cliff felt hesitant, but one side glance from the Magnus reminded him that, regardless of his current emotional state, he was an Autobot.

“Not that I can recall sir. Longarm was always well mannered but closed off. He had never confided such things in me.” Which was true. Despite Shockwaves intimate knowledge of Cliffjumper, Cliff barely knew anything deeply personal about the ‘Con. A spy to a fault it seems.

“Hmm shame he was damn good at his job. Had us all fooled, although I had my suspicions, but they all crack in the end. I wasn’t kidding when I said we have ways of making him talk. Sooner or later he’ll be begging to give us information!”

Somehow that didn’t make Cliff feel better.

“How, Sir, do you plan to do that? Shockwave seemed very resistant to what you dished out today.”

Sentinel hummed, “True but one day is a little bit of a stretch for a mech like Shockwave. No he’s tough. He won’t crack like some service drone. We need to bring out the big guns and hit him with them. Hard. A good week of energon deprivation, electro-stimulation, and a good dunk in a hot oil vat will get him to spill it. If that doesn’t work we can either lend him to Perceptor for some chemical experimentation or simply let the masses take out their frustrations on him. Many mechs wouldn’t mind getting their servos on him and I’m certain that any blow to the ‘Cons pride would be to our advantage.”

“Sir, I don’t think he pissed off enough mechs personally to gain any sort of ‘mass’ that would want to kick his aft. I mean I know there might be a few in the EliteGuard but…” Cliff trailed off as he thought about it. Sure Shockwave had murdered their Magnus—erm their _previous_ Magnus—but there might be only one or two with the ball bearings to actually show Shockwave what they thought about it.

“Bah doesn’t matter. All we need is a few bruisers and a handful of horny cadets. A round with them and Shockwave might not even need the torture.”

Cliffjumper almost choked on his own intakes. “H-Horny wha—Sir! That’s immoral. Surely you’re joking?”

Sentinel looked astonished, “Of course I’m not. He’s a Decepticon **and** a wanted murderer. He deserves a lot of things, but morality isn’t one of them.”

‘B-But Sir! He’s still a living thing with rights and—“

“Let me cut you off there, soldier,” Sentinels voice hardened and he upturned his head in an unmistakable sneer. “He. Is. A . Decepticon. He has no rights, in fact he has no reason to exist other than to give us information. He is a menace, him and his kind need to be purged from this galaxy if Cybertron is to ever be made great again. I would sooner throw away my title as Magnus than show something like _him_ mercy.”

Cliffjumper stood in shock as Sentinel walked ahead of him. There was a pain in his spark suddenly from the images that Sentinel was painting.

“But Sir!” he called and Sentinel paused to look back at him. “He…he was our comrade once. Our friend even. How can you put all that aside and call him a ‘thing’? What i-if it were me or Jazz? What would you do then?” He challenged and balled his fists up in pent up fury.

“I would do the same without a second thought,” the look of utter certainty in Sentinels eyes made the anger in Cliffjumpers cables run cold. “As Magnus it is my duty to protect good _Autobots_. Decepticons deserve death. Traitors deserve worse. You’d best remember that, Cliffjumper, next time you try to start any of this Decepticon sympathizing business. I **will not** tolerate it.”

 

* * *

 

It had been about four solar cycles since Sentinel and the torturer had left and still the electricity was wrecking his systems. Minor functions were all but nonexistent and his motor skills were worse than when he was left in the stasis cuffs. In an attempt to work off the excess charge his body had gone into hyper mode. His engines revved, his fans whirred at maximum, and he could literally watch his tank levels getting lower. If Sentinel wanted him starving that it would happen very soon. He was past the point of hunger. Now he was just angry. It was that irrational anger that came with intense hunger. His processor wandered aimlessly through memories, fantasies of the future, and even back to his youngling days on the streets of Kaon.

Perhaps he was dying. This was the natural progression of thoughts for a mech on his last leg. Reminisce about the past, regret upon the future, hate upon the present.

Perhaps he was getting delusional from the infernal charge plaguing his systems. Damn that Sentinel. Damn that Jazz. Damn that Cliffjumper.

His servos dug painfully into his palms and another harsh venting rattled his abused fans. Somewhere in his processor he felt like this was partially Cliffjumpers fault. No mech had ever meant as much as Cliffjumper. No mech had ever made him so irrational, so irresponsible as to stay in enemy territory and all but beg for Cliff to join him. The more he dwelled on it the more illogical it became.

Cliffjumper should have been replaceable. A simple frag partner was all Shockwave needed for physical pleasures and yet his processor kept going to Cliffjumper. That damned smile, those soft touches when no one else was looking, those sicklingly sweet words that should make any self-respecting ‘Con laugh, all of it shouldn’t haunt him so.

It was Cliffjumpers fault

It was his fault that Shockwave now feared death.

How often had he stared mechs in the eye as the battled for his life? How many sparks had he extinguished to save his own? Those countless times where he had battled for his life he had never once feared returning to the allspark. Never once had he felt pangs of guilt for those who he would be leaving behind, because ‘Cons do not greave.

A Decepticon would simply mourn the loss of a talented leader. An Autobot would be destroyed psychologically. This thing in their processors that makes them capable of such selflessness also makes it impossible for them to get over something like death.

Just look at the state of the planet. An entire **faction** was mourning one Magnus. A great leader to be sure, but it was statistically impossible for every single bot on this planet to be socially tied to Ultra Magnus, and he watched as entire cities cried in despair for their leader. No he couldn’t do that to Cliffjumper and he felt disgusted with himself for having such sentimentalities.

Through his haze of irritation and hunger he head the door open. He didn’t bother to see who entered. It was most likely the silence torturer anyway with orders from Sentinel now that he had finally starved enough. What now? Acid dunk? Peel off his plating? Would he be forced to listen to another one of those Primus awful speeches from Sentinel? Please anything but that.

“Shockwave?”

That voice was not one he expected.

“Cliffjumper? Hm, perhaps I have gone crazy,” he drawled, his own vocal processor feeling heavy in his intakes.

Shockwave felt small hands on him and, with no small amount of hesitance, he opened his optic. It was not Sentinels smirking mug or Jazz’s calm façade, but those blue optics that had greeted him on that morning so long ago. A morning that suddenly felt so much closer, but he pushed it aside.

“So…So I’m not crazy. What are you doing here hm? Come to gloat? Come to hurt me for all that I have done to your precious Autobot friends? Or want to settle the score about our little tryst in your office?”

Ire laced Shockwaves voice but Cliffjumpers expression did not waver. A part of the mini had been missing the last time Shockwave had seen him, and only now did he realize what it was. The fire was back in his optics. A passion that startled Shockwave into silence as the young bot hastily undid the restraint on his left arm.

“That’s for later, but right now,” Cliff looked him straight in the optic, “I’m getting you out of here.”


	3. My Turmoil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings! Yes I am still here! Surprising I know.
> 
> I would like to apologize for the delay on this. I had made great headway on this chapter a while back, but it wasn't going how I would have liked. But now that I came back with fresh eyes I can safely say I really enjoyed how this turned out. I hope it doesn't disappoint.

“We barely had him for a megacycle and he’s already **escaped**?” Sentinel was in a rage, throwing his arms up and stomping his feet like a yougling. He looked ridiculous, but he had a point. Shockwave’s escape had come alarmingly quickly. The alarm had rung late in the cycle, and they still had no word of what happened.

“Security cameras blacked out all across the compound, Sir. We have no footage of his escape, who aided him, or where he went,” Jazz said as he tried to keep his tone civil.

Sentinel looked like he was about to blow a circuit, and his optics were bright with fury as he said, “This is ridiculous! There is _no way_ another Decepticon made it onto this base in such a short amount of time.”

Sentinel started to pace, and Jazz crossed his arms under his chassis, “I agree. The only plausible explanation is—“

“We have another traitor in our midst,” Sentinel finished for him with a dangerous tone. He whipped around to face Jazz and said, “Who? We did a full sweep of background checks and psychological evals after the incident with Longarm. Who, in Primus’s name, could it be?”

Jazz shrugged and scratched his chin, “I’m thinking it was someone like Longarm Prime. Someone unassuming, a good record, and someone we’d least expect to be a Decepticon sympathizer.”

* * *

 

“Will you stop squirming?” Cliffjumper growled.

“Excuse me for feeling uncomfortable in such a cramped space,” Shockwave spat back as he tried, without success, to get comfortable in the small wash tub.

Cliffjumper pinched the bridge of his nose trying to calm his ire. This was a nightmare. Not just trying to bathe an injured Decepticon in a wash tub half his size, but also the situation as a whole. He was harboring a fugitive in his berthroom for Primus sake. He knew saving Shockwave on a whim was a bad idea, but it wasn’t until he managed to get the ‘Con here that he realized what a horror bad panning really was.

“Okay just—I know this sucks slag! But work with me. We need to get your wounds clean or they’re gonna rust,” he scolded and suddenly felt like he was back in the academy trying to get a cadet on board with a horrible chore.

Shockwave rolled his optic but laid still. His servos twitched uselessly, the tender circuits fried from Sentinels electrocution gimmick. Cliffjumper knew that if he could, Shockwave would be cleaning himself. Shockwave was too proud to let mechs do anything for him, and Cliffjumper knew how this must feel to the proud ‘Con, so he tried to take it easy.

The wounds were centered on Shockwaves arms, legs, neck—basically anywhere where the ‘Con had been tied down to the chair. Those restraints mush have been horribly tight to have left cuts and dents like these, and any struggling that Shockwave may have done—voluntary or not—must have just made it worse.

The cuts were inflamed, hot to the touch, and slowly leaking discolored energon. Cliffjumper was no medic, but he knew that wounds like this weren’t good and needed to be cleaned. The cloth he was using was soft, but was still no doubt painful on the aggravated cuts. Shockwave was taking it like a trooper, though. Again, more of that damn ‘Con pride.

“So do you plan on going down with me or trying to escape with me?” Shockwave asked, his voice strained.

Cliffjumper knew what he was asking, but he choose to ignore the question, “I need to get these cuts clean first, that’s the most important.”

“Ahh, yes. Get me nice and healthy for my eventual execution. I just want to know if you will be dying by my side as an Autobot traitor or defecting—an action I encouraged many times mind you—and joining me with Lord Megatron.”

“I’m going to blame your fever for not realizing those aren’t the only two options,” Cliffjumper said, then yelped as Shockwaves twisted claws clamped down awkwardly on his wrist.

“Cliffjumper,” Shockwave’s tone was absolute, “There is no way both of us are getting out of here alive. No doubt Sentinel is ‘scrambling the troops’, as it were, to find my whereabouts. They will throw me back in that chamber and have you imprisoned in the one across the hall.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Cliff snapped and took Shockwaves claws off his wrist. It was sadly easy. “I know the risks, and I’m willing to take them right now. I am **not** defecting, but I will not stand by and let this immoral torture continue. Now will you shut the frag up so I can finish?”

There was a quiet moment of regard between them. It was not tense like a fight was about to break out—Cliff was sure Shockwave didn’t have it in him anyway—but there was a tense charge in the air. Cliffjumper was a nervous wreck from lack of recharge, and Shockwave was in pain and half delirious from a fever. They were both crabby.

Cliffjumper was thankful when Shockwave turned away, obviously dropping the subject, and allowed him to finish cleaning his wounds in peace and be alone with his thoughts.

Cliffjumper meant what he had said. There were not only two options here, but there were very few options that had a happy ending. He was a good Autobot, but he—dare he say it—still had feelings for Shockwave. Sure it was Longarm he had fallen for, but weren’t they the same mech? Now that Cliffjumper has had the chance to interact with Shockwave he realized that the similarities between him and Longarm were numerous. That made it hard to hate him.

Killing Ultra Magnus did. He definitely hated him for that, but he couldn’t bring himself to want Shockwave dead. Maybe it was because he still heard Longarm everytime Shockwave spoke.

* * *

 

“You’re my Head of Security and you have _no idea_ where he went?” Sentinel barked in his face and Cliffjumper resisted the urge to bark right back.

“Sir,” he strained the title, “We can’t have any idea because security failed during his escape. A bug was found in the system and by the time it was eradicated, he was gone.”

“Surely you can track him somehow! You said not all of the cameras were offline,” Sentinel said and gestured widely to the surveillance monitors behind him.

“That is true, but there was no way to track his progress. Cameras shut off in random places, turned back on in others, sensors were tripped in odd places, Sir there was no way to track him. There was no pattern, no obvious route of escape, and no one saw anything.”

Sentinel looked like he was trying to rattle his processor for some kind of solution, obviously trying to be the All Knowing Leader he knew he wanted to be, but it was no use. Cliffjumper knew the security systems inside and out. His bug would neither be traceable nor recoverable.

“Someone had to have seen something. You can’t move someone that big, and that immobilized, without drawing some sort of attention!” Sentinel turned to Jazz. The ninja usually had some sort of answer, but this time he shrugged.

“I got nothin’ Sentinel. Cliffjumper is right. We have no witnesses of Shockwave entering or leaving any part of the building.” Sentinel looked upset again, but Jazz continued before Sentinel could throw another fit, “But that doesn’t mean he isn’t here still.

 “We have no proof that he has left the compound,” Jazz said assured. “No security gates were breached, and no outer alarms went off. Nadda. Plus, where would he go? To the city? It’s crawling with enforcers. Even if he did make it out someone will see him eventually. I already have the local authorities on high alert for Shockwave and Longarm, just in case he goes into his disguise again.”

Sentinel simmered down. Whether he was contented by this answer or simply tired from being up all cycle remained to be seen. Either way, he was finished yelling and that was all that mattered.

“Then it’s a waiting game,” Sentinel said to no one in particular, then turned to Cliffjumper. “I want every available scrap of security footage from here to the outer base walls. I don’t care if it’s relevant or not, I want it scrubbed, stared at, and re-stared at until we have exhausted any possibility that evidence exists.”

“Yes Sir,” Cliffjumper said with a snappy salute.

“Jazz, I want you to start doing that, uh, snooping thing you do. If there’s a second ‘Con or, Primus forbid, a _traitor_ among us then I want their head on a pike and their body in my office.”

Jazz gave a less enthusiastic ‘Yes Sir’, and Sentinel stalked off to chew someone else’s head off for once. They had a lot of work to do and Sentinel venting down their necks was not helping.

“If, uh, you need any help just let me know,” Cliffjumper said to Jazz, who nodded and hastily went about his own business.

* * *

 

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

“I don’t know how you did it,” Cliff said with a groan as he slumped into his favorite chair.

Shockwave was currently occupying the couch and looking very amused at Cliff’s current state.

“You learn to ignore it. Espionage is a skill not a talent. Looking for information you know isn’t there is a hazard of the job, and like any hazard there is a way to ease the discomfort,” Shockwave said as he settled into his mound of blankets.

“That…that barely makes sense,” Cliff replied, deadpanning.

Shockwave seemed confused for a moment, slowly blinked his optic, and hummed, “Perhaps I really do have a fever.”

“Ugh I’ve been trying to tell you that! Did you even take the medicine I laid out for you?” Cliffjumper hauled himself up and placed his cheek to the top of Shockwaves helm. “Ugh, NO you haven’t. What the slag, it’s like I’m taking care of a fragging newbuild!”

Cliffjumper threw his arms up. He was just so done with today. Looking for information he knew wouldn’t be there, listening to Sentinel’s screeching, and the overwhelming feeling that _someone knew_ had ground his patience to a nub and inflamed his temper beyond its usual levels.

Shockwave blinked again, and pawed at Cliff’s chassis with his useless claws. “Come now, love,” he drawled, “No need for such volume. We’re hiding remember?”

Cliffjumpers anger fizzled to a low rumble, and he said, “Yeah well…you’re the one hiding not me, technically.”

That made Shockwave snort. “Ah yes, and you will get to walk away with only a smack on the servos?”

Cliffjumper sat on the couch beside Shockwave with a humorless laugh. “You and I both know that is _not_ what I will get if I get caught.”

“If you know the repercussions of helping me, then why did you bother? Surely you don’t still like me that much. I had assumed you hated me by now,” Shockwave said in a dull tone.

“Oh no, I hate you. A lot. But what Sentinel was saying, pit what he was **doing** was just mortifying. He was willing to torture you in any way to get what he wanted. Electrocution, dismemberment, pit he was even talking…about..r—“ he couldn’t finish. Just the very though brought a sick turning feeling to his tanks.

“Hmm…Rape?” Cliffjumper flinched, and Shockwave had his answer. “I’m not surprised; although I am impressed he would go to such lengths just to get me to talk.”

Cliffjumper looked incredulous, “What? Impressed? That’s all you have to say about that?”

Shockwave shrugged, “It is a good tactic, although a bit barbaric. Extensive psychological trauma can weaken the processor and leave it open to probing. It wouldn’t have worked, but I’m impressed that an Autobot would be willing to stoop to that level. In fact I’m rather flattered that they are willing to go to such lengths for little old me.”

Cliffjumper just shook his head. Decepticons were so strange.

“In any case, I believe you changed the subject,” he said and sat up enough so he could look Cliffjumper in the optics. “Why did you help me? Surely it wasn’t just moral obligation. Any normal Autobot would say I deserved what I was being given or what was to come. I’ve murdered your Magnus and who knows what else. You very well could be saving a spark that Primus himself has abandoned, and yet here you are. Hiding me in your bedroom like a youngling trying to keep a pet hidden from his parents. So tell me, Darling, why?”

“It…it’s not for you. Or my morals. It’s for Longarm—what we had before it all went south,” he said with surprising ease. It still hurt to think of Longarm, but Cliffjumper had to be true to his feelings. He was doing this because if Shockwave died, then so would what was left of Longarm, and Cliffjumper couldn’t bear to let that happen yet.

“Ahhh I see,” Shockwave hummed and placed his servos on Cliffjumper shoulder plate. “You are still convinced that Longarm and I are two separate entities?”

Cliffjumper gave him a hard look and said, “Yes I do. Longarm was your disguise to get into the Autobot ranks,”

“Ah but a disguise cannot cover up everything. I will not lie and tell you everything between us was genuine, but I will tell you that some—if not most—was real. How I was with Sentinel was an act. How I was when I was with you was real, well, as real as I could make it. Towards the end I was even considering revealing myself to you in the hopes you would take the change well.”

“I wouldn’t have taken it well,” Cliffjumper affirmed with a stern look, and Shockwave laughed.

“Hmm yes I know. It was a fools hope and my own fault for letting you get too close. But know this,” he said as he leaned in close to Cliffjumper audial. “I _want_ you with me. I want to tie you up and never let you leave because we Decepticons do not love. We **dominate.** Own.”

There was a chill down Cliffjumpers spine as Shockwave flexed his claws on Cliffjumper shoulder. No doubt that if he had any dexterity left in them they would have punctured the metal there.

“I want to own you, Cliffjumper,” he all but growled and hauled Cliffjumper up with a shocking amount of strength considering his current and pulled him into his lap. With nothing between them except for a thin blanket, Cliffjumper could feel the heat rolling off Shockwave, whether from fever or arousal it was hard to tell.

But there was no way he was going to have a repeat of the last time. He pushed on Shockwaves chassis in an attempt to distance himself from him.

“You already got to ‘own’ me after you attacked Magnus, remember? You can’t have me again,” he said baring his denta.

“Ah by my Darling that was merely my way of saying goodbye. Little did I know that I would be seeing you again,” Shockwave rumbled and trailed the tips of his claws against Cliff’s cheek. They trembled slightly.

“Well that was one pit of a way to say goodbye. I mean, who does that?”

“A mech who is sure that this one last pleasure is the only that he will feel for a long while,” Shockwave drawled and leaned back into the couch. Now that he wasn’t looming over Cliff with his height, Shockwave looked rather cozy all snuggled up and content to have Cliffjumper in his lap.

“Still slagging messed up if you ask me,” Cliff grumbled and watched as Shockwave looked about ready to doze off. Cliff should let him sleep, he really should, after all that fever can’t be doing good for the ‘Cons systems, but there was something still nagging him. Shockwaves comment on revealing himself had reminded him.

“Did you ever consider spark merging with me?”

Shockwaves optic had drooped into a half moon, but at Cliffs question it opened and leveled with him.

“Yes.”

Cliff sputtered, “Really? But that would have blown your cover! How did you plan on hiding your true identity through a spark merge?”

The ‘Con chuckled. It was hallow and humorless.

“I didn’t. I was well aware that it would blow my cover, and for a short while I was willing to live with that. I even thought of revealing myself, remember? Taking the next step in our relationship would have naturally led to that anyway.”

Cliffs mouth suddenly felt dry and he lowered his voice as he said, “You were really that committed to ‘us’?”

Shockwave sighed and rested his claws back on Cliffjumpers cheek. This time the Autobot didn’t bat it away.

“Darling, do not believe for a moment that I did not care about you. As I have said in the past, we Decepticons do not ‘love’ as you Autobots do. I will never bring you gifts and lavish you with poetry, I will never be home cooking you a meal and waiting for you to return from work, but what I will do is I will never stray from you. If someone tries to take my spot at your side I will strike through their spark with my very claws and let them beg for forgiveness. Because _that is my place_ , and mine alone. **Nothing** will take you from me, and nothing aside from my untimely demise will tear me away from you.”

Cliffjumpers mouth was probably hanging open, floundering for any sort of rebuttal for that. He couldn’t come up with one.

“Do you understand, Cliffjumper?” Shockwaves voice was a soft rumble as he leaned in so close that Cliff could see his own startles reflection in Shockwaves optic. “A Decepticons ‘love’ is everlasting. All consuming. I take what I want from you because you are mine. Mine and mine alone. And no matter how this turns out, no matter who you decide to take to your berth after this, we both know that you are well aware of that.”

Cliffjumper shuttered his optics as his temper flared. He gripped those tickling digits this time and growled, “You do not **own** me Shockwave. I am my own mech and nothing about what we had will change that.”

“Had? Oh but it is still happening even as we speak,” Shockwave replied smugly. Cliffjumper just wanted to punch that smug glint in his optic.

“Bullslag! You think that we,” he gestured between them, “still have a thing going on?”

Shockwaves optic widened in mock innocence, “But of course! You have been willingly sitting in my lap, unrestrained, for many clicks now. Last I checked hated enemies do not often do that sort of thing.”

Cliff felt his cheek plates heat up in a mixture of anger and frustration.

“Shut your lying mouth. That has nothing to do with—“

Cliff’s mouth snapped shut as Shockwave took a surprisingly tight grip on his inner thigh. Despite the damage to his claws, they still managed to dig uncomfortably into the soft metal there.

“And yet here you are. Pliant, unmoving, and unwilling to admit you are aroused by my proximity. I feel it in your field, Cliffjumper. You cannot hide anything from me,” the “Con growled and his grip tightened. “You don’t move because this is your invitation. You don’t want to move because, even now, your body is craving mine.”

Shockwave leaned in close and Cliffjumper felt his spark jump as the ‘Con hummed right into his optic.

“No matter what your mind or your ego is trying to make you believe, your body knows who you belong to. It knows the pain and the pleasure I brought it in the past and it’s craving more.”

Cliff was distracted by the ‘Cons crude words, and he yelped as the brutes other claws came to harshly wrap around his neck cables. The energon flow immediately lessened to his processor, and his spark thrummed in panic.

“You want me to open you up? Rip off your paneling and take that soft little valve just like I did in your office that day? You may say no, but I believe otherwise. I’m certain I could bend you over this sofa and have my way with you while your comrades trot along their merry way just beyond that thin metal door, and you would overload just from the thought of your Autobot friends finding out you’re being owned by a Decepticon under their very roof.”

Cliffjumper felt his energy being sapped as his processor was filled with Shockwaves lewd promises, and his fingers suddenly didn’t have enough strength to pry the ‘Cons claws off his neck.

“Oh and how you’d yell. You'd curse and scream and beg for me to get off you, but I won’t. I’ll just watch you thrash,” Shockwave cooed and released Cliffjumper entirely.

Cliffjumper scrambled back and stumbled over his own feet. Inside his chassis his spark was hammering and he was trying his best to convince himself that it was from panic.

“Y…..You’re the worst, you know that?” Cliff suddenly felt overwhelmed and as he stumbled to his peds he refused to look the ‘Con in the optic. How dare he be right. How dare he bring up all of those old lusts that Cliff tried so desperately to burry every cycle. Shockwave was playing with his emotions and Cliff could do nothing about it. Everything pouring out of this aft was just tugging at his spark and making him wish he could go into those arms. Take that offer of pleasure and just float away from all responsibilities for a night.

Straightening, Cliff turned his back to the ‘Con. Maybe if Cliffjumper didn’t look at him, he may manage to sound bigger than he felt.

“Go into recharge. I have to leave for my shift soon and I apparently need to babysit your every move.”

Shockwave scoffed and said, “Changing the subject will—“

“Sleep. Now. That’s an order.”

For a moment there was silence.

“Hmph,” Shockwave grumbled. “Aye Aye Sir.”


End file.
